


The Incident of the Dungeons and the Dragons

by Illyria_Lives



Category: Rawhide (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autism Spectrum, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Learning Disabilities, Mushy Deserves Love and Affection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-04-15 03:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyria_Lives/pseuds/Illyria_Lives
Summary: When their favorite lot boy is ejected from his Dungeons and Dragons group, the mechanics at Gil Favor's auto shop decide to cheer him up by playing a game with him.Chaos ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been mulling over a Mechanics AU ever since I started watching Rawhide, and this is my first attempt at exploring it. Also, I fucking love Mushy and he needs more love, especially from the drovers.

It all started just days earlier.  Favor had been sitting in his booth at Wishbone’s diner, eating lunch on his break and commiserating with Pete over a new Hot Rod magazine that featured some truly despicable excuses for cars.  Rowdy, who for one was  _ not  _ on break and should have been back at work, had stopped in to ask Favor for advice on ordering a part, and advice had turned into a conversation, had turned into him ordering some food for himself after he ate all of the fries off of Favor’s plate.  All three of them sat together and looked up as the bell above the door chimed.

“Hey Mushy!” Rowdy raised and waved his arm.  Favor turned around in his seat to give his part-time lot boy a smile and nod, but the Mushy he managed to catch a glimpse was red-faced and kind of shabby looking.  He didn’t acknowledge any of them, which was odd, making a beeline for Wishbone behind the counter and whispering in his ear for a few rapid moments.

“Oh… okay, you go on back,” Wishbone replied, patting the young man on the shoulder.  Mushy wasted no time in disappearing into the kitchen of the greasy spoon, and even further back, as none of the mechanics could see him from the serving window.  Wishbone looked like he’d been hit by a truck, taken aback and blinking. 

“Hey, Wish,” Rowdy waved him over, and the man came.  Pete moved over to make room for him in the booth. “What’s up with that?  Something the matter?”

“Well, I guess,” Wishbone said.  He was squinting at the serving window like he was looking for the answer to be perched on the malt machine.  “Say, what day’s today?”

“Tuesday,” Rowdy said.

“Wednesday,” Pete and Favor corrected as one.

Rowdy’s eyes widened.  “Oh,” he said. “I missed my English class this morning.”

“You’re also missing your work shift,” Favor said, pointedly, and dug his elbow into the young man’s side, making him hiss and slither from his seat.  Once standing, Rowdy didn’t vacate, leaning over the table with his hands pressed to the linoleum tabletop. 

“Why’d’ya ask, Wishbone?  What’s on Wednesdays?”

“Well, Mushy goes over to a friend’s house and they play board games and stuff.  I dunno, I tend to tune out when he starts going on about that.”

“Well, that sounds nice,” Pete said.  He started to poke lightly at Rowdy’s spread fingers with his fork.  “Something happen to his friend?”

“I dunno.  He just asked if it was alright if he could start his shift early and keep to the back.  Sounded pretty upset.”

“He looked pretty upset,” Favor commented.

“Well, are you gonna go talk to him?”  This from Rowdy, who moved his hands. “Quit it, Pete.”

“For one, it ain’t my business,” Wishbone sniffed, beard jutting out.  “Mushy’s my em-ploy-ee, after all, not my kid. And besides…” he deflated slightly, “he told me it bothers him more if I try and badger him right after he gets upset about something.  Overstimulation. I should be able to talk to him without him getting overwhelmed in an hour or so.”

Pete started to poke at Rowdy’s midsection with his fork.  “Hear that, Rowdy? In an hour you should be finished with that radiator.  Perfect timing.”

“Alright, Alright, you jasper, quit forking me, I’m going— just one last thing I wanted to ask Mr. Favor.”

“Yes, I am disappointed in your work ethic, Rowdy.  Is that all?”

“That’s not what I was going to ask— are you serious?”

“Anyways,” Wishbone rolled his eyes and got out of the booth.  “Lemme take those plates.”

“What is it, Rowdy?” Favor asked, standing and thumbing out some bills for Wishbone and leaving them on the table.  Together with Pete at his side and Rowdy scrambling along, they exited the Diner and made the short walk next door to the Sedalia Drive Auto Shop and Garage.  

“Can I have Saturday off?”

“You’re scheduled for a full day on Saturday!”

“But can I have it off?”

Pete headed off to his corner of the garage and the car demanding his attention.  Scarlet and Quince, in the back, sandblasting something, waved their hands through the glass partition, and Favor replied in kind.  He had plenty of paperwork to deal with, and headed for his office. Rowdy followed him like a lanky blond shadow.

“You know the rules, Rowdy, days off have to be requested three days in advance.”

“That’s why I’m asking now.”

“It’s Wednesday, Rowdy.”

“Oh.  Right.”  He silently ticked off his fingers.  Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Dejected, he dropped his hands.  “How about a shorter shift? I can get someone to cover for me.”

Favor pretended to give it a thought.  “No.”

“But, Boss—”

“You mentioned you missed a class this morning.”

Rowdy frowned and scratched at his cheek.  “Yeah.”

“Remember what our deal was when I hired you?”

Rowdy sighed.  “I’m gonna go fix that radiator.”

“Now, hold on up a second.  I want to hear you say it.”

In the doorway of Favor’s cluttered little closet of an office, Rowdy paused.  “You’ll keep me on as long as I go to school.”

“And?”

“... and you’ll only hire me full-time once I get my degree.”

“Full time employees get preference for days off, Rowdy.”

“Okay, okay.  I get the picture.”

“Good to hear.  Now get back to work.”

“Yessir,” Rowdy said, and groused off to his project.

* * *

Part of that day’s office work for Favor included fixing up the next round of paystubs and answering a few emails of men jockeying for their classic cars to get stored up for the winter in the Garage’s car storage lot.  Favor noted that he had scheduled Mushy very little the past pay period and resolved to talk to Wishbone and see when Mushy was free. His pay was honestly pitiful. With that in mind, after an hour and a half, Favor closed up the office and wandered to the smoking zone in the acre lot’s back corner.  He finished his cigarette break without anything of note happening, idly looking over his domain, but as he was turning back, he heard Rowdy call out Mushy’s name.

If he walked around the tree trunk and craned his neck, Favor could just see Mushy, behind the Diner, holding a large trashbag.  Rowdy, out by the tool shed, stepped up on a pile of tires to rest his arms and head on the top of the fence. “Whatcha doing?”

“Taking out the garbage,” Mushy answered, with one of his signature slight shrugs.  

“I can see that,” Rowdy replied.

“Oh,” Mushy said, “sorry, Mr. Rowdy.”

“You don’t gotta apologize about it, I was just saying.”

“Right.”

“Hey there, Nosy Nelly,” Pete said, popping up at Favor’s elbow and stretching up taller.

“You’re here too, ain’t you, Pete?”

“Shut up and give me a cigarette.”

Favor did so.  Smoking, the two of them continued to snoop.

“How’s uh, the shop doing?” Mushy asked.

“Ah, you know how it is.  Favor won’t give me Saturday off.”

“‘Favor,’” Pete snorted.  Favor made a mental note about that.

“That’s too bad.  You had plans?”

“I was gonna to go a BMX Expo thing with Soos.”

“BMX?”

“You know, extreme dirt bike stuff.  You’ve heard me talk about it before.”

“Right.  BMX. Sorry.”

“Hey, is everything okay?  You don’t normally apologize like this.  Well, I noticed you haven’t apologized as much anymore.  And you looked pretty shook up earlier.”

“Boss?  Pete? What’s going on over here?”

Favor and Pete turned and shushed Teddy, who shook his head and wandered back off, muttering to himself about old biddies.

“It’s not important,” Mushy sighed.  “My character died in Dungeons and Dragons today.”

“Wow, that sucks— wait, your  _ character _ ?”

“My rogue!  Sir Roderick Harkness!”

“Hey, Harkness, that’s your name!” Rowdy said with a touch of pride, most likely at having remembered.  Favor had personally forgotten what the  _ H  _ on his payroll stood for.  By the awkward way Pete shifted his weight next to him, he had forgotten as well.

If anything, this comment only increased Mushy’s melancholy.  He nodded and tossed the garbage bag into the dumpster, and stuck his hands in his pockets.  “Well. He’s dead now, anyway. Even though I have Uncanny Dodge and the damage  _ should  _ have been halved because I could  _ see  _ the attacker and I have Gloves of Missile Snaring—” he continued on, actually tossing some numbers and statistics in, which Favor didn’t expect Mushy to actually be able to handle with ease; or Rowdy, for that matter.

“I can see what Wishbone means about checking out when he starts on,” Favor muttered.

“Rowdy’s giving a go, though.  Look at him. Nodding.” Pete chuckled.  

Rowdy  _ was  _ nodding, but he was also scratching the back of his head.  “Uh, that sounds intense. So, what, you have to make a new character?”

“Usually, yeah, but…” Mushy started grinding one of his shoes into the dirt.  Then, he shook his head from side to side, and tapped his hands against his thighs.  Favor recognized the movements a Mushy getting damn near close to shutting down.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t gotta answer,” Rowdy said.  He even took his head off of the perch of his arm and leaned farther back from the fence; giving Mushy space.  

“No, no, it’s fine… it’s just that the other guys I play with told me not to bother.”

“ _ What?! _ ” Rowdy, Favor, and Pete all said as one.  Rowdy whipped his head around, and Favor and Pete absolutely did not hit the dirt like they’d just gotten the order to drop and give their drill sergeant back at West Point twenty.  But, however they did it, they ended up together on the dirt ground, scattered ashes and cigarette butts around. 

After a moment, Rowdy spoke back up, his voice carrying.  “Now, that doesn’t seem fair. Didn’t you have to do that, once already?”

“Yup.  But this time they told me not to bother.”

“Well, I’m sorry Mushy, but they sound like jerks anyways.”

“Yeah…” 

Pete started to creep back upright, but Favor grabbed a handful of his work shirt and pulled him back down.  

“Well, hey, you can always find more people to play with, right?”

“I dunno.  I’m not that good a player, anyway.  Seeing as how I keep dying.”

“Aw, come on, Mush, it can’t be that bad.”

Pete and Favor couldn’t hear Mushy’s response, if he gave one.

Rowdy spoke back up.  “Well, hey, this girl in one of my classes was telling me she listens to this podcast thing, playing Dungeons and Dragons.  You ever give it a listen?”

“I tried to, really did, but I just couldn’t understand them without being able to see them.”

“Aw.  Well.”

“Yeah.  Aren’t you supposed to be working, Mr. Rowdy?”

“You’re starting to sound like Mr. Favor.”

“Really?!”  He sounded absolutely ecstatic.

“Yeah.  On my ass.”

Mushy laughed, once, then said goodbye to Rowdy.  

Pete and Favor started to scramble upright, but damn Rowdy Yate’s long legs, he was there before they could get themselves dusted off.  “Hey, Boss. Pete. Creeping on me?”

“Now how’s that for some lip,” Pete said, with a smudge of dirt on one cheek.  “Mr. Favor, fire him for… impertinence or something.”

Rowdy slid his eyes to Favor.  “Boss?”

“Just making sure everything’s okay, Rowdy.  Now, go and get on.”

“Yes sir.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, son?”

“Impertinence or something,” Rowdy said, over his shoulder, mimicking Pete’s slight accent.

The man being imitated snorted.  “He learned that from you,” he said.  He and Favor wandered back over to the main floor of the garage.  

“Whatever you say, Pete.”

“I love it when you say that.  Say… you reckon we should, I dunno, help Mushy out?”

_ That  _ made Favor pause, halfway to his restoration job in the classics bay.  He turned around, slowly, on his heels. “Help Mushy  _ how _ ?”

“I dunno.  Tugs on your heartstrings, you know, a nice kid like Mushy getting pushed around.  He ain’t got much positive stuff in his life, what with his mother being, well, you know.”

Favor did know.  He winced and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Still, Pete, you’re not really giving out any ideas.  You’re not supposing a couple of grease monkeys go strong-arm some teenage nerds into letting our lot boy play games with them again?”

Pete averted his eyes, confirming that he had been supposing exactly that.  “I like Mushy, is all. He ain’t got anyone else willing to go to bat for him.”

“It ain’t our business, Pete.”

“Could be our business, Boss.  Like I said, he ain’t got anybody else.  And we ain’t always been decent to him, neither.”

There.  Favor could feel his aforementioned heartstrings being tugged.  He sighed. “I’m not promising anything.”

“Good ‘nough,” Pete said, and went on with his work.  Favor’s second sigh became a groan, and he headed over to his office, hoping the Garage could function without distracting him for the rest of the day.

* * *

It's Wishbone that actually came up with an idea, not Pete or Favor, and he came up with it fast, while the wound of Pete’s comments was still fresh for the garage boss.  Wishbone came up with the idea and then accosted Favor as he arrived at the Garage in the morning on Thursday.

Rather than his normal half-angry grumbled greeting while sweeping his stoop, he scampered up from the front door of the Diner as soon as Favor arrived in his Cadillac.  “Mr. Favor! Mr. Favor!”

“Good morning, Wishbone,” Favor replied, in a tone that was half greeting and half warning.  He had a travel mug that said “WORLDS BEST DAD” on it that the girls had gotten him for Father’s Day, but the coffee in that mug had yet to be consumed.  He rolled his car over to his spot and put it in park. The only other car in the worker’s lot was Quince’s, as he’d spent the night doing a mix of guarding, inventory, and standing by in case a car emergency came rolling along.  Sedalia was one of the few all-night auto shops in the county, and a surprisingly good chunk of their profits came from roadtrippers or late night travelers who got flats and needed a tow.

“Mr. Favor, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Favor grunted wordlessly and took a heavy swallow of coffee.  Wishbone followed at his heels as he walked into the shop and nodded to Quince, who was sitting with his feet propped up.  Nighthawk shift wasn’t all that demanding, and Favor allowed the men on the shift to slack off, as long as they didn’t nod off.  

Favor headed to his office, let Wishbone inside, and shut the door.  “What’s the favor, Wish?”

“Well, you see, Mushy told me all of what happened to him yesterday.”

“Yeah, I… overheard.”

“You and that Pete Nolan, nothing but busibodies.”  Wishbone shook his head. “I figure you’d all be in on the broad ideas, but I tell you, how those ingrates treated Mushy is nothing short of criminal.”

“We’re not cops, Wish.  We can’t arrest them.”

“Well, I know that!”

“Sometimes I wonder, the way people come to me with their problems,” Favor muttered darkly into his cup.

Wishbone chose to ignore that.  “He’s been playing with these kids every Wednesday for two years, now, at least, and not a single one of them ever tried to understand him.  Saw him as a weak spot on the team or some nonsense. Made fun of him even worse than we do, it sounds like. Mushy doesn’t even understand have of the jibes they were making at him, but I tell you I did, and it just gets me all boiling up inside.”

“The point, Wishbone.”

“The point is, I’m thinking we can celebrate his birthday a few weeks early and play a game with him.”

“... What game?” Favor found himself asking, cautious.

“Well, Dungeons and whatever, of course!  He’s been working on his own little story thing for a while now, but his asshole ex-friends never let him play it.  I figure we meet at the Diner tomorrow night, surprise him, play his little story thing.”

“Dungeons and Dragons,” Favor mused aloud.  “When I was a kid, I was told it was a Satanic thing.  Kid almost got expelled from my high school over it.”

“Me, too.  But it’s different, now.  It’s just a nerd thing.”

“Nerd thing,” Favor mused, in the same tone as before.  “No wonder you never got big in sales.”

“Now, look here.  I’m willing to do it, and you can probably convince Rowdy and Pete.  At the very least tell them there’ll be free food, that’ll get them running.”

“Why me, though?  I’m not exactly close to Mushy.”

“Well…” Wishbone’s stance and toned softened.  “He thinks awful high of you, Mr. Favor. I think if you’d be willing to play one game, it’d really make him happy.”

“Damn it, Wishbone…” Favor dragged a hand down his face.  There went his Friday night.

“Good.  I’ll email you the things you need to know.  You just get those jokesters you call employees on board, I’ll handle anything else.”

“Speaking of employees, don’t you have a job you ought to get to, Wish?”

“Friday!” Wishbone declared, pointing at him.  “Don’t you think of making any excuses, Gil Favor!”

“Goodbye, Wishbone!”  

Once the cook was gone, Favor wasted no time in downing the rest of his coffee in one go, and making towards the ages-old coffee pot in one corner of the garage.  The next few days promised to be long.

* * *

Pete wasn’t scheduled that day, but Favor texted him and forwarded the email Wishbone had sent him.  Dungeons and Dragons contained a surprisingly large amount of reading and math for something Mushy was interested in.  Pete declared he was in, and if anyone else tried to be a bard he’d strangle them. More power to him, Favor decided. He saved his own research and such for after work.

Rowdy came in around one, after his classes at the local community college were done.  He came ripping up the road in his astonishingly loud and battered Harley, pulling into his spot behind Favor’s Caddy.  After hearing the bike arrive and then shut off, all Favor had to do was count down from five before Rowdy opened the door to his office without knocking.

“Oh, hey, Boss.  Didn’t know you’d be in here.”  Rowdy dumped his backpack in one corner and grabbed his work shirt from it’s hook.  They’d learned within two weeks of hiring Rowdy that if Favor wanted him looking official and wearing his official work shirt with embroidered name patch each shift, he’d have to leave it at the garage.

“How was class?  You  _ did  _ go, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Couldn’t focus.  Got a lot of reading to do.”  Rowdy buttoned up his shirt and then rapidly scrubbed his hands through his hair.  Favor felt a jolt of fondness. He’d been riding Rowdy awful hard lately. Here was Wishbone, doing everything he could for Mushy, meanwhile Favor tended to be a heel to his own young protege.

“Well, if you wanna take some extra break time, you can have the office to work in.”

“Really?” Rowdy perked up, then sobered.  “Hey, what’s the idea?”

“Nothing.”  Favor held up both hands, palm out.  “Just you’ve been getting behind in your work, I don’t want to ride you so hard you can’t make it through school.”

“Well, okay.”  Rowdy still didn’t look convinced.  If anything, he looked sheepish. “This is the one class I don’t get the notes from a note-taker, you know.”  

Favor nodded.  It was one of the thorny things he felt a bit uncomfortable about: because Rowdy didn’t have a degree, Favor didn’t hire him full-time.  Because Rowdy wasn’t full-time, he didn’t get benefits. Because he didn’t get benefits, he didn’t have a diagnosis for what Favor was sure was dyslexia or some kind of attention disorder.  Because he didn’t have a diagnosis, the school didn’t provide him any extra help. It was only by pure luck Rowdy tended to befriend those in his classes who  _ did  _ get extra help, who sometimes were willing to pass things like notes his way.  And a few times, now, he’d had classes with no help. At least one, the previous semester, he’d outright failed, but the time Favor had tried to talk to him about it Rowdy had nearly quit.  Boy had his pride just like anyone else.

“Well, like I said, go ahead, take a dinner break if you want.  I can leave you alone for an hour as long as you’re working.”

“Thanks, Boss.  Appreciate it.”

“Oh, and one more thing, Rowdy.”

He paused in the doorway.  “Yeah?”

“Well, Wishbone has this idea for cheering Mushy up.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah… thinks if we all, well, play a game with Mushy he’ll cheer up.  We only have to play one, and it should only take a few hours.”

“Am I invited?”

Favor blinked.  “That’s a given.”

“Oh, cool.  When’s it at?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Awesome.  Tell Wish I’ll be there.  Do I need to bring anything?  Like all those dice they use? Where do you even buy those?”

Favor shook his head slightly as if to clear it.  “Really, that’s it? You don’t need any convincing?”

“Well, I like Mushy.  And there’s a cute girl in my class, likes Dungeons and Dragons.”  Rowdy grinned. “Figured maybe I could impress her with my,” he wiggled his fingers in a terrible way, “powers.”

Favor shrugged.  “If that’s all it takes…”

“Whaddya mean?”

“I was gonna say, if you play with Mushy you can have Saturday afternoon off.  But, since you just care for Mushy so much…”

“Aw, come on, Boss.  Have a heart.”

“That’ll be the day.  Get to it, Rowdy.”

Rowdy sighed and made a show of dragging himself out of the office.  “Yes, sir.”

Favor grinned to himself.  Sure, he could be a heel, but sometimes Rowdy made it just too easy.

* * *

That night, Favor joined Maggie and Gillian at the table in the kitchen where they did their homework.  He’d made printouts of the guides and papers Wishbone had sent him, and poured over them with a highlighter and a pencil, trying to carve to the necessary parts.

“Daddy, how do you spell ‘belief’?”

“B-E-L-I-E-F,” he recited.  “Why?”

“I need to copy the word,” Maggie said.  He snuck a peek at her worksheet homework.  Indeed, that was all the worksheet was: copying words in longhand down in cursive.  ‘Belief’ was right there on the page. 

“Well, it’s right there,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Maggie agreed.  “I just couldn’t spell it.”

Hm.  Favor tallied that down to bring up with Eleanor, later.  She was out at a school board meeting, yet seemed tickled at what he said he was going to be doing Friday night.  He loved his sister in law as much as any man could, but sometimes he felt like he was still showing up to take Susan out for a date and Eleanor was there, peering around a corner and hitting him with two pure beams of judgement.

The math involved with making his character was currently stunning him.  Bonuses for class, for race, for backgrounds, and then those stats fed into further bonuses for damage and constitution and all manner of other things.  And ‘spell slots’ were making him a little happy he’d been a gearhead instead of a nerd when Dungeons and Dragons had been sweeping through his school. One less thing for a teenager to worry about.  On top of that, he really had to reconsider his ideas of Mushy’s more technical intelligence, because if he could do this God alone knew what else he could do with some numbers.

“How in hell does Mushy do this for  _ fun _ ?” he muttered to himself.  Poor Rowdy was probably having a harder time than he was.

“You shouldn’t say ‘hell,’ Daddy.”

“Right, sorry.”

“How do you spell ‘orange’?”

Favor looked at her worksheet.  There was ‘orange’ right next to ‘belief.’  He reached out a finger and poked at it. “How’s that?”

“I said  _ spell  _ it, not  _ read  _ it.”

Huh.  Maybe Eleanor already knew about this— it had been some time since he’d helpd his daughters with their homework.  Still, there was something that smacked of Rowdy in her reasoning. Favor could recall giving Rowdy a Chilton guide, during his first few weeks at the garage, as a means to answer all his questions about a particular diagnosis that needed to be made for a dead muscle car.  Rowdy had replied, “Well, how’s reading this supposed to tell me anything?”

Deeper in the house, the landline rang.  Gillian untangled her legs, announced “I’ll get it!” and ran off, leaving Favor to spell out ‘orange’ for Maggie and watch as she painstakingly looped in the word on the dotted line.

“Favor household, Gillian speaking.  Oh, hi Rowdy!”

Maggie’s head shot up like an alarm had blared.  “Rowdy’s on the phone?!” She started to scoot out of her chair, but Favor was up and got her under the arms before her feet could touch the floor.

“Oh no you don’t,” he chided, and placed her back on her chair.  “You finish your homework.”

“But  _ Daddy! _ ”

“Homework, or no Rowdy or Pete for a month.”

“A  _ month? _ !”

Gillian appeared in the kitchen doorway.  “Rowdy wants to talk to you. He says your phone’s dead or something.”

Oh, right.  He pulled out his cellphone, which he had put on silent, and realized his lock screen was full of texts and missed calls from Rowdy.  One of the more recent texts was just a bunch of question marks. He headed over to the landline and picked up the receiver. “Favor.”

“Mr. Favor, thank God.  Have you made your character yet?”

“Working on it now.  Say, you ever have a problem with cursive as a kid?”

“What?  I’m talking about Mushy’s game tomorrow.”

“No, I haven’t made my character yet.  I figure I’m gonna be a, whatsitcalled, a Paladin.”

“Tell Rowdy I said hi!” Maggie screamed from the kitchen.

“Maggie says hello.”

“No, I said  _ hi _ !”

“My mistake, she says  _ hi _ .”

“Hi, Maggie,” Rowdy replied, sounding exasperated.  “Look, I know our shifts don’t overlap tomorrow, but I need some help with this.  I can come in early, or if you could stick around…”

“Why ask me?  Mushy’s the expert.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a surprise for him.”

“Right.  Wishbone not help you out any?  He’s the one who sent me all the guides.”

“Only got his answering machine.  Figured the old man’s asleep already.”

“And I’m guessing Pete wasn’t helpful.”

“Nope.”  Rowdy’s tone was clipped.  “So how about it, boss?”

Favor leaned to one side and spotted Gillian and Maggie both leaning over Maggie’s homework, deep in conference with one another.  Their blonde hair shone in the kitchen lights, and Maggie shook her head, rapidly, back and forth. “You don’t  _ get _ it!” Maggie insisted.

“Are you busy right now?” Favor asked.

“Yeah, I’m working on this.”

“I mean, why don’t you come over, we can work this out together.”

There was a moment of silence.  “Really?”

“You’ve been over here before, Rowdy.”

“Yeah, but that was the Fourth.”

“And now it’s, what, the seventeenth?  Come on over, we can figure this out.”

Again, a pause.  “ _ Really _ ?”

“I’m taking back my offer in five seconds.  Five, four, three, two—”

“Okay, okay, I’m on my way.”

“See you in fifteen.”  Favor hung up the phone, and went back to the kitchen.

* * *

Rowdy idled for a moment in the Favor Family’s driveway before cutting the engine and kicking down his Harley’s stand.  He’d made sure to pull over, away from the garage, in case anyone needed to get in or out. His helmet he took with him, tucked under one arm, up to the front door.  Bell or knock? It was getting pretty late; how late did Maggie and Gillian stay up, normally? He’d hate to wake them. He raised his fist to knock, but before knuckles could meet wood, the door opened up.

“Ha!  Hi, Rowdy!”

“Hi, Maggie,” Rowdy said after his heart attack had passed.  Her little hands got his helmet out from under his arm and pulled it right on over her head.  “This smells.”

“Well…” with nothing to say to that, he made sure to scrape his shoes against the welcome mat several times before crossing the threshold.  The Favor house was far,  _ far  _ nicer than anywhere Rowdy had ever lived, except perhaps the one month in Juvie where he’d gotten approved for Good Behavior to be moved to the light security ward.  His attempt at a breakout had made him say good-bye to that particular luxury and kept him from ever experiencing it again during his stay.

Maggie, Rowdy’s helmet still squarely on her head, led the way to the kitchen.  Mr. Favor looked up from a spread of papers around him on the table. “Evening, Rowdy.”

“Mr. Favor.”

Maggie giggled.  “It’s funny when you call him that.  His name is  _ Gil _ , like  _ Gillian _ .”

Rowdy felt any comment about how calling Mr. Favor ‘Gil’ was likely to get his ass kicked wouldn’t go over well, so he chose another line of conversation.  “Where is she, anyways?”

“She didn’t want you to see her in her pajamas.”

“Right,” Rowdy said, awkwardly.

“Well, are you gonna take a seat or what?”

“Yessir.”  Rowdy took a seat at the kitchen table, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder.  He pulled out some wrinkled papers of his own. “Here’s all I’ve got so far.”

“Good.  Maggie, take that off.  You’ve still got work to do.”

Maggie slid farther down in her seat, Rowdy’s helmet bumping against the wooden chair back.  She groaned; Rowdy grinned. “So, you said you’re gonna be a Paladin?”

“Seems like it.  I think strength and charisma would be a good mix…”

With that, they settled into conferring over what they’d read and what they were thinking of doing.  Rowdy figured a fighter would be the easiest thing for him to keep track of, as all the magical elements were daunting and he doubted he’d be able to use them to their advantage.  He had a few points to make about constitution and health which Favor seemed to appreciate. Gillian even joined them after a few minutes, in her school clothes, and helped them both find a site online where they could roll their different dice.  Maggie eventually took Rowdy’s helmet off, and he ended up watched as she scribbled her way down her worksheet.

“It’s almost Maggie’s bedtime,” Gillian piped up.  She’d been helping a bemused Favor figure out what to name his character.  “Isn’t that right, Maggie?”

Maggie frowned.  “But I’m not finished yet!”

“There’s only fifteen questions on that!”

“Gillian,” Favor said, in a warning tone Rowdy was very familiar with.

Maggie stuck out her lower lip and changed her grip on her pencil.  Rowdy lightly knocked his arm with hers. “Well, sometimes short stuff takes me a long time to do.”

“I can attest to that,” Favor muttered, but his tone had no malice and he was even grinning a little bit.  That gave Rowdy some extra courage. There were still seven or so things to go on Maggie’s little homework sheet.

“How about, you go through, and just do the ones that are easy, first?”

Maggie turned to stare at him.  “Skip questions?”

“Just for now.  If it’s hard you don’t gotta do it first.”  He glanced at Favor to make sure he wasn’t overstepping his boundaries or anything.  The man was just looking at his daughter, almost in thought. “Why not try that, Mags?”

She seemed doubtful, and hummed in a way a lot like her daddy.  But, she started down the list, and in a quick two minutes she’d done three problems, more than Rowdy had seen her do in the past half hour.  

“Huh,” Maggie said, blinking down at her worksheet like she was surprised at herself.

“There you go.  Now, go through it again, and only do the ones that are easy.”

“I already did those.”

“Maybe this time around you’ll see easier ones.  You never know.”

Another doubtful hum.  God, she was going to be just like Mr. Favor when she got older.

“What are you going to name  _ your  _ character, Rowdy?” Gillian poked his arm.

“Well, I dunno.  Haven’t thought of it.”

“Name it after  _ me _ !” Maggie perked up.

“Maggie the Fighter,” Favor said, with a real full grin.  “Has weight to it.”

“What about me?” Gillian asked.  “How about naming him after me?”

“Maggie Gillian… Gillian Maggie…” Favor made a show of tapping his chin with his finger.  “Well, it’s up to Rowdy, isn’t it?”

Right to the sharks.  Rowdy sat up as inspiration hit him.  “Ma _ gillian _ the Fighter.”

“That’ll work!” Favor laughed, and Maggie giggled.  Gillian’s face was turning rather pink. At this point Rowdy heard a car pulling into the driveway, and started gathering up his papers.  He’d never met the elusive Eleanor Bradley before (she hadn’t been present at the one Fourth of July picnic he’d attended), but what he knew of her made him glad he’d grown up in a different school district.  Gillian said her goodbyes before heading to get ready (again) for bed.

“Where’s the fire?” Favor asked, watching Rowdy jitter around his things.

“Well, I, uh—” Rowdy hesitated, “I figure it’s getting late, Boss.  I oughta get moving.”

“Right,” Favor said, nodding, “You’ve got class tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yeah, at nine.  English.”

“Try not to miss this one.”

“I’ll try.”  He stood and started shoving papers in his bag.  He’d have to finish his character sheet while at school or on his break the next day.  When he went for his helmet, Maggie had fallen asleep with her face smooshed against the top.  “Uh…”

“Here, I’ve got her.”  Favor went in and with complete ease got Maggie out of her chair and into his arms, passing Rowdy’s helmet to him.  Maggie’s arms went around her father’s neck even as she stayed gently sleeping. Rowdy stood there, awkwardly holding his helmet between his big clumsy hands, and watched as Favor bounced a little as we walked, so not to disturb his daughter.  He stood there, watching, as Favor left him behind in the kitchen. He ran over what had just happened in his head, and yet somehow couldn’t break down exactly how Favor had done what he’d done, with such smooth and accustomed motions.

There were family touches around the kitchen.  Family pictures, a few painted clay things Rowdy assumed the girls had made at summer camp or something benign like that.  He hadn’t got a chance at the Fourth to look around, but as much as he wanted to snoop around, another part of him felt like moving would break some sort of spell.  The night outside the kitchen window was blue and deep, and he could hear the indistinct rumble of Favor saying his goodnights to Gillian.

Then the door opened, closed, and before he could make a run for it Rowdy was looking at a woman who could only be Favor’s sister-in-law, Eleanor Bradley.  She seemed surprised to see him in her kitchen, because why would he be in her kitchen? In the same thought he damned Mushy’s terrible friends for starting the domino chain that lead to this and prayed Eleanor Bradley had no idea of his educational past.

A moment of tense silence passed while Rowdy opened and closed his big stupid mouth.

“Hello,” Eleanor said, slowly.

“H-hi,” he managed.

“Evening, Eleanor,” Favor said, arriving on the scene and passing his sister-in-law by to stand by Rowdy.  “Something wrong? You look like you got hit by a car. More so than usual.”

“Uh,” Rowdy said, and nothing else.

“Eleanor, this is Rowdy Yates.”

“Ah, the elusive Rowdy.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Rowdy gaped first at her and then at Favor before letting a nervous chuckle out.  “Uh, I hope all good things?”

“Mostly,” Favor said, with a hint of humor.

“Something about you having more promise in your little finger than some men had in their whole body?” Eleanor was as gleeful as Favor looked run-over.

“Alright Rowdy here you go time to leave—”

“Wait a second!” Rowdy planted his feet even as Favor tried to get him to the door.  His eyes were shining almost as much as his smile. “I could stand to talk to Ms. Bradley some more.”

“Too bad you have class tomorrow.”

“Not until nine!”

“Here’s the door.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rowdy let his grin settle into more of a smirk.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Favor.”

“Drive safe.”

“I know.”

Rowdy waved once before turning and heading to his bike.  Favor stood in the doorway, waiting until Rowdy had pulled back onto the road and was out of sight.  He felt Eleanor standing beside him. “So that’s the poor boy you torture every day.”

“Not always me.  Pete chips in where he can.”  He shut and locked the door, switching off the porch light.

“What did you tell him about me?” She followed him doggedly through the house as he turned off lights.  

“That you’re a shining beacon of scholarly womanhood.”

“He looked like he was  _ scared  _ of me.”

“Scholarly anything has that effect on him.”

“Gil Favor, I will never understand you,” she sighed.  “But you could stand to invite him around more. Get him gardening, sometime, and I promise the Home Owner’s Association will get off our backs about the oil stains on the driveway.”

“You leave Rowdy to me.  I pay him to fix cars, not azaleas.”  Eleanor conceded with a half-shrug and started to head back towards her room.  “Hold on a second.” She paused, eyebrows raised. He made sure to cast his voice down low, in case either of the girls was still awake.  “Have you noticed Maggie having some problems with her reading?”

She considered it.  While Favor typically valued a rapid response time in his men, with Eleanor he knew she would have scanned every part of her brain before providing an answer, and that answer wouldn’t need to be changed later.  He would never tell her to her face, but she had a brain like a Lamborghini. All high-end machinery and computer chips. “Quarter grades aren’t out until next month, and the state testing isn’t until May. I haven’t had any reports from her teacher, but then again her last reading comprehension test, if I remember correctly, wasn’t fully completed by the end of the time.  Her teacher last year let her stay the extra five minutes to finish it, though, so it’s not on her record.”

“Is it… possible to get her tested early?”

“Do you think something’s wrong?”

“She took a long time filling out a worksheet tonight.”

“Were you distracting her?”

“I don’t always distract her while she’s doing her homework.”

“Rowdy was here.  He’s a distraction, the way I hear Gillian tell it.”

Favor made a note to take an ugly picture of Rowdy at the next available moment to show Gillian.  Then he felt a bit guilty. “You know, he actually helped her a little. I’m thinking she and him have something in common.  And she mentioned something, about reading being different from spelling.”

Eleanor hummed, and was quiet for a long moment, her eyes focused on nothing.  Then, she focused again on Favor. “I can get her tested after school next week, most likely.  If she has a learning disability, or even some topical learning gaps I can get her a tutor, or even move her to a focus class.”  Eleanor nodded like that was that, but Favor felt himself losing control of the conversation.

“I don’t want her taken from her friends,” Favor said quickly.  “I just want to get her some help,  _ if  _ she needs some.”

“ _ If _ she needs help, she’ll get it in the focus class.”

“Eleanor, I remember how the kids in those classes were treated, when I was in school.  I’d rather she not be moved.”

“Gil, it’s late.  Being in a focus class could sincerely make her school experience better for her,  _ if _ she’s struggling, which is still an  _ if  _ until I can get her tested.  How the other students react only speaks to their inability to accept their peers— and can be stopped by the administration.”

Favor sighed and touched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.  “Kids can be cruel, Eleanor.”

“The kids that are cruel are less important in the long run of your memory than the kids that treat each other with understanding and kindness.”

“I feel like I’m about to be given detention.”

“If only I could give you detention.  Goodnight, Gil.”

“Goodnight, Eleanor.”

He stood waiting and thinking in the dark living room while Eleanor went to her room.  Their situation was an unusual one, he knew, but Eleanor had taken care of the kids while he was doing his tours, and he wasn’t about to eject her from their lives just because he’d become a civilian again.

Now that he could look back, he felt more than a twinge of guilt over cutting into Rowdy for missing his class.  It was hard for him, as a young man who’d spent his teenage years behind bars, to drag himself to something he struggled with and didn’t enjoy, but he did it because Favor required it.   _ There  _ was something.  

Something.  Poor Mushy, as well, he had it even harder than Rowdy, having tried to attend the same community college as him and getting turned out for low grades, going to the local adult school to get some kind of certificate that would allow him to get lighter classes and schedules.  Yet another hurdle the world made him jump through just to prove he was worth the effort. And now Maggie. Not that Favor had been a genius in his school days, but he wanted his daughter to not have to worry about anything, her grades included.

While it had been his intention to pry into Rowdy a bit about his coping mechanisms, the kid had just stepped right up to help Maggie without being prompted.  And Mushy never complained, not once, about his classes or the work he had to put in to pass them (of Rowdy, Favor couldn’t say the same thing, but hey, Rowdy had his other virtues).  No, he was lucky. Immensely lucky, to the have two of them kicking around his life.

God, Eleanor was right.  He could be kind of a dick.  Not that she called him that in as many words, but she tended to look at his management style as being thematically similar to a gulag commandant.  Favor disliked realizing this about himself. Disliked it immensely.

Well, not much he could do about it that night.  He made sure his papers were all stacked and ready to go before turning in.  Whatever happened, tomorrow was going to be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I actually struggled with this chapter. Not much happens, but we're getting there!

Friday morning Favor got the girls ready and out the door in record time, for them.  That is, only ten minutes past the time they  _ should  _ have left— he could usher Marines and fully grown men around like a proper drill sergeant, but the deadly combination of early mornings and two girls below the age of fifteen always managed to stagger him.  Papers were lost and found, coffee made, accidentally spilled, remade, and imbibed, and there was a possible catastrophe of Maggie’s Spirit Day shirt going missing. It was in her dresser drawer, where it was supposed to be.

“Look at that,” Favor had said, tossing it to her, “if only you put your clothes away here regular, you’d know where to look.”  She had stuck her tongue out at him and he’d let her have that final word, too aware of his own lethargy to risk getting into a row.

At the largest intersection keeping them from the girl’s private school, Gillian suddenly gasped and pointed through the windshield of the Cadillac.  “Look, it’s Rowdy!” Favor knew well enough that there was only one shabby-looking (and horrendously unmuffled) Harley in town, and it’s rider was Rowdy.  He idled on the left turn lane adjacent to them, waiting for his light.

Favor checked the dashboard clock.  Rowdy was on his way to being late to his classes at the community college.  He made a note of that for later. Gillian and Maggie rolled down their windows and stuck their arms out, waving.  Maggie poked her head out, ignoring Favor’s bark to keep her skull  _ inside  _ the car, and shouted at the top of her lungs, “ _ ROWDY!”  _

The figure on the bike raised his arm in greeting.  The light changed, and with the engine popping and roaring, Rowdy rode past them, hitting a wheelie that had the girls gasping.  Young fool was going to get his wheel blown out. Or he was going to be arrested for dangerous driving, again. Favor rubbed his hand down his face.  If getting arrested could give him some peace and quiet in lock-up he might consider committing a few crimes himself.

“Dad,” Gillian said, getting his attention.  “The light’s changed.”

“Right,” he said, giving himself a shake.  “Thank you.”

Because he insisted on seeing them right to the front of the school, he got trapped in a traffic jam of other parents thinking the same thing, all in massive modern Escalades and other non-sport cars that made Favor worry for his bumper.  If so much as  _ one  _ scuff appeared on his chrome detailing, he was going to commit a very heinous crime against whatever Prius-owner dared get within five feet of him.

“Daddy’s grinding his teeth again,” Maggie said, and Gillian shushed her.  Favor focused on unclenching his jaw.

After managing to drop the girls off unscathed, the rest of the ride to the Sedalia Drive Garage and Auto Shop was almost nice.  Maybe he was just having a bad morning. Maybe things would start getting better. Maybe pigs were going to start flying.

Favor pulled up into the driveway of the Garage.  Wishbone, halfway through pacing across the lot, turned and perked up. Favor stopped, put his car in reverse, and rolled back out of the driveway.

“Hey!  Hey, stop that!”

With a deep sigh, Favor hit the brakes.  Wishbone jogged up over to his window, rapping on the glass.  Favor cranked it down one inch. “What is it, Wishbone?”

“I wanted to make sure to catch you before Mushy came in.”  Wishbone kept moving his head around like he was expecting Mushy to pop out of the bushes, triumphant at having caught him at something.  “Roll this window down, dang it, I feel like a meter maid.”

Favor cranked it down one more inch.  “Say what you need to say, Wishbone.”

“Fine, alright, basically just keep it on the down low today, but when you close up, get Pete and Rowdy and come over to the Diner.  I’ll seat you like you’re gonna be getting a late dinner, ask Mushy to stick around, and when he’s in the back we’ll get it all set up as a surprise.”

“Sounds like a plan, Wish.  Can I go, I don’t know, do my work, now?”

“Yeah, yeah, you ornery piece of—” 

Favor revved the engine once, cutting Wishbone off, before pulling into his parking spot.  The old cook didn’t stick around to the chew the fat; Favor counted that as a small victory before heading into the shop proper.

Joe Scarlet was on night watch, but he wasn’t sitting with his feet up. He headed for Favor as soon as he was inside the main garage. His face boded no good news, and Favor fought back a groan. “Alright, out with it,” he said, before Joe could even open his mouth. “What happened?” 

“I only just got back in a half hour ago.  Big blowout in the canyon, had to tow two trucks out of the scrub.  Got one in the scrap corner, other one I think maybe we can save, I’ve been working on getting an estimate for the guy.  Invoice for the tow is on your desk.”

Favor suppressed a groan.  For the first thing to hit his desk that day, here was a whole new knot to worry at, with everyone else still busy— Pete on a custom job, Quince fitting in a custom dashboard on another, Teddy busy, Bailey busy… Rowdy was the only one who’d put a completed check-list in his hand recently, but then again Rowdy wasn’t the best at diagnosing yet, and the wreck in the last car bay was more dents than car as Favor gave it a quick-once over from a distance.  That, and he’d have to go over the actual scrap wreckage, find whatever he wanted to take for himself, strip it, then call up Joss Hode, their local scrap metal guy for an estimate… a massive snowball of work had hit him and the shop overnight.

He didn’t say anything to Joe right away. First, he stepped around him and headed for the coffee maker in the corner of the shop. It was almost as old as he was, and powered by an old bike engine. 

“Uh, Boss…”

Favor picked up the glass carafe. Empty. Oh so slowly, he turned to face Joe, who looked like he was facing down a firing squad.

“What,” Mr. Favor said, “happened, to, the, coffee, maker.”

“Well…” Joe rubbed at the back of his head. “Last I tried to turn it on was around, around ten last night, and it didn’t turn on. I figured the wiring was fried, like it was last time. Took it apart, couldn’t see anything wrong with it, put it back together, then the call for the tows came in and I had to leave it alone. Not sure why it took a shit.”

“I’ve got  _ how many  _ mechanics working for me, lazing around my shop, and  _ yet  _ I’m getting screwed by Mr. Coffee every other morning.”  Favor picked up, and then dropped the machine with a very loud clang, back onto it’s table. A plastic covering popped off.  “Great, just great.”

“Wishbone’s right next door, Chief,” Joe muttered under his breath— but not low enough. Favor turned back around, eyebrows almost to his hairline.

“What’re you whispering for?” he asked.

Joe Scarlet considered his next words very carefully, Favor could see. Each word entered his head, was considered from every angle, and then was allowed to exit his mouth. “What do you want me to get started on, Mr. Favor?”

Mr. Favor.  _ There  _ wasn’t a good sign. Favor resisted the urge to groan, aware that that response would only feed the fire. “Well,” he heard himself say, “why don’t you take your pick? Considering there’s so much around here that needs to get done.” Every single word was a landmine, tossed down into the dirt. The two men faced off.

Joe Scarlet worked his mouth, nodded, averted his eyes, and said “Yes, sir,” from the corner of his mouth. He headed towards the project he’d been working on for the past day, fixing the throttle on a battered old truck. Favor counted down from ten and atzero, went into his office to call up the insurance company about the tows. 

One disaster bred another, slowly but surely. Teddy came in late, one of their recent fixes busted again and Favor got stuck on the line with the screaming, frothing, dissatisfied customer, giving Favor an equally screaming headache and three hundred less dollars in his pocket as he had to promise a refund. The coffee machine stayed broken, parts were mis-ordered, and Joss Hode, once Favor could get ahold of him during his skipped lunch break, offered about two hundred dollars less than Favor wanted for the scrap metal of the surrendered wreck, which itself lacked any kind of parts worth salvaging. Everything from the angle of the sun to cutting open his palm when trying to yank out a (dead) starter solenoid from the wreck told Favor something he already knew: the world hated him.

The real kicker came when Favor finally found the time to slip away to the tree in the corner of the lot for a smoke break, coming across Pete and Teddy in the middle of a long, rather rambling and one-sided conversation. Favor knew for a fact that Pete had plenty to do in his repair bay, and Teddy had already been for his fifteen minute break. Not that Favor had been tracking the movements of his men like a hawk with a point to prove for the entire day, oh no sir. 

“It’s called Vicious Mockery,” Pete was in the middle of explaining to Teddy, who looked seven different kinds of bored, a cigarette smoldering closer and closer to his lazily pursed lips. “All I have to do is look a fellow in the eye, right, and  _ insult  _ him, and he takes damage just like I’d slashed at him with a sword.”

“Cool,” Teddy said, over-enunciating the word.

Pete was unphased, blowing smoke out of his nose and gesturing with his hand. “And then, the higher levels I get, even my low-level spells get more powerful. I’m never going to have a useless spell, so I was thinking, once we hit level six— ”

Teddy’s wandering eyes spotted Favor, went wide, and his spine snapped up to attention. “Uh, hi, Mr. Favor— we were just—”

“Wasting my time?” Favor asked. He jerked his chin. “Git back to work, Teddy, before I fire you.”

With an incredibly fast  _ yessir _ , Teddy took his leave, scampering off to join the muttering, overworked forces in the garage. Pete, his smoldering cigarette still in his hand, turned, frowning. “Well, what crawled up your totem pole today?” he asked. “Something with quills, I reckon.”

“Do I pay you to play games, or do I pay you to work?” Favor demanded.

“You want a punching bag, I’ll buy you one,” Pete replied, and ground out his cigarette against the side of the wall.  Still half-finished, he put it in his shirt pocket. Never a good sign from Pete. “You’ve been on the warpath today.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“I’ve got a lot of work on my plate, Pete.”

“I’m not saying you don’t— I’m just saying you’re not helping anyone ripping heads off left and right.”

“And you’re not helping, keeping Teddy from his work. And your work, besides.”

“Fifteen-minute break,” Pete said, and checked his battered old wristwatch. “I’ve got about ten minutes left. I think I’ll go see how Wishbone’s doing. Give you some time to calm down.” With that, Pete brushed past Favor and did not look back, keeping a steady stroll through the entire garage lot and out the side gate. Heads rose to watch him go— Quince, driving out the empty tow, took the time to roll down the window and conspicuously lean out on his elbow to catch any possible available glimpse of the unfolding drama. Favor’s blood felt hot enough to melt out of his veins.

“Eyes on the road!” he shouted at Quince, and the driver flinched before dutifully withdrawing and driving off to bring what would probably be another project for Favor to sweat over. Why he bothered using the last of his savings to start this place all those years ago, he currently has no idea. Hopefully he had written it down somewhere, or soon plenty of mechanics would be short of jobs. Favor stormed into his office with one final shouted order to get some work done, damn it, and slammed the door shut behind him.

According to his scheduling for the day, he was supposed to be free to cut and run around this time. He had even been planning on getting some detailing done on his pet project, an old Mustang up on blocks in his backyard. 

Thoughts and pressures kept building, creating a concentrated buzz of attention swamping Favor’s head. Time passed in episodes of great swiftness intermixed with incredible lag. Nothing got done. Small chips appeared in the to-do list, sure, but unfinished tasks and unsuccessful rallies towards productivity gathered and only served to boil his blood still yet further. He only became aware of how much time had passed since the morning when Rowdy’s shift began, breaking into Favor’s concentration.

Even over the music playing in the Garage’s speakers, Favor could hear Rowdy ripping up the driveway in his hog.  One of these days, he was going to sneak a muffler onto that machine, he really was. Not today, however— far too much real work to get done. Rowdy cut his engine, and Favor counted down from five. Just before he got to zero, Rowdy burst into the office without knocking.

“Oh, hey Boss,” Rowdy said, once again somehow surprised at Favor being in his own office.  He tossed his backpack aside and grabbed his work shirt from its hook. “I’d’ve thought you’d’ve taken off by now.”

“Yeah, me too,” Favor muttered.  He dragged one hand down his face.  “Thought I’d go through some paperwork.”  That was always the idea, anyway. Perhaps one of these days a casual paperwork run-through could remain just that for him: casual.  He shifted his attention fully to Rowdy. Even while getting dressed for work, there was a small little smile on his mouth that wasn’t always there.  “You seem happy. What’s the story?”

“Had a great day at school,” Rowdy said, stilling grinning as he did up the buttons of his work shirt— missing a button part of the way through.  “Actually raised my hand and had the right answer for my algebra class. Got a B- on a short paper in English.”

“Hey, that’s not bad,” Favor replied, eyebrows rising.  Rowdy tended to average more Cs than Bs, and in English especially his trend typically fell more towards Ds.  “That the one you spent all weekend on?”

“The very one.”  Rowdy’s grin was catching.  Now, here was some good news.  

“You, uh, made it to all your classes, then?  Didn’t forget what day it was?”

“Ha-ha,” Rowdy said.  “You kill anyone before I got here?  Quince looked awful mad.”

“Great job missing a button, there.”

“What?  Oh.” He went back to fiddling with them.  “Seriously, though, I’d like to be told if there’s a war going on.”

“Just the usual,” Favor sighed.  He idly picked up and tossed a pen on the desk.  It hit papers and scattered them nicely. “I’ve got a wreck in first bay that needs some diagnosing.”

“Hmkay,” Rowdy said, with an easy half-shrug.  “I can take a look at it.”

“That’s what’s got me stressed,” Favor muttered.  “The idea of you looking at it.”

“Hey, I’m better than I used to be,” Rowdy said.  Then he held his hands up, palms out. “I’m just saying. It’s not like you’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

“I’ve got, like, half a paddle,” Favor muttered.

“Hey.”

Favor held up both of his hands, palm out. “I’m not having a good day,” he said.

Rowdy nodded. “Yeah, I figured.”

Favor’s glare could cut steel.

Rowdy ducked his head. “I’m gonna go take a look at that wreck. Try and…” with a useless, ineffectual hand gesture, he turned on his heel and made like the office was going to start filling with water. Favor couldn’t blame him. It certainly felt like he was suffocating, from where he was sitting. The door opened a crack and Rowdy poked his face back in. “Oh, and we’re still going to play Dungeons and Dragons with Mushy, right?”

Favor cursed. He had completely forgotten. Part of him wanted to come up with some excuse and cut bait back home, where he could relax with a beer and some mind-numbing television, but the unbridled look of excitement on Rowdy’s face made him reconsider. 

“Yeah, right. Uh, Wishbone said to meet up at the Diner before closing time, he has this whole charade figured out.”

“Awesome!” Rowdy flashed a thumbs up, keeping it in the doorway to the office even as his face disappeared from view. “It’s gonna be fun!”

“I sure hope so,” Favor sighed, and got back to work.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Pete left for home without saying goodbye like he usually did, which felt like a kick to Favor’s midsection. One of these days he was going to learn to keep his mouth shut. Probably. Hopefully. He smoked more than he usually let himself, even smoking while he worked on fixing up the earlier caller’s car; as he was technically not scheduled to work, he considered the labor free and so less of a strain on the tight finances. Rowdy’s work with the tow wreck was always active in one corner of Favor’s radar. At a certain point he heard Rowdy checking in with Teddy over this or that, getting a quick second opinion before he finished his write-up invoice and appeared at Favor’s elbow.

“Here you go, Boss,” Rowdy said, and none too subtly wiped his sweaty palms against the legs of his pants after handing Favor his clipboard with the hand-written invoice on top. “The frame is straight, just need to un-dent the body, maybe replace the door and fender, but the engine turns over. Should be… fixable?” 

For a long moment, Favor looked over the proposed fixes. If he signed off on it, it would mean more work for the garage, and if Rowdy was wrong, that was parts and work hours down the drain. If Rowdy was wrong. The minute grew longer and Rowdy shifted his weight. Just for fun, Favor stuck his tongue in his cheek and turned the papers over once more. 

“Oh, come on! Did I get it?” Rowdy asked, and cleared his throat. “Sir.”

Pros and cons. If Rowdy was wrong, Favor could only imagine what that would do to his burgeoning confidence in his mechanical skills. Well. Not exactly that. If Favor didn’t give him this chance, gone would be the only possible silver lining of the work day.

“Looks great,” Favor declared, and a sigh of relief passed through the garage. Quince and Bailey exchanged some money behind Rowdy’s back. The kid himself looked nearly beside himself with pride for one moment before dutifully smothering it down. Favor passed him back the clipboard. “Go put the invoice in the office, I’ll call and give the estimate to the owner. If they sign off on it, this is yours until it’s done. Good enough?”

The  _ yessir  _ that came out of Rowdy’s mouth was almost too adorable to be sincere. Then he cleared his throat once more. “I mean, sure thing, boss.” He turned on his heel and made for the office. Favor watched him go, rubbed his face (felt some oil grime smudge there) and then turned back towards his work. 

After he’d finished up giving the now-running car back to the irate owner, making his apologies and kissing the ring (as Pete would call it), Favor got to take a brief break in the office, going from one call to the next. The owner of the tow from the wreck accepted the estimate and Favor dropped the confirmation note off in Rowdy’s punch-card slot. Then he called Eleanor, confirmed with her that Maggie was scheduled to take the focus class placement test that following Monday, and listened with some relief as Maggie and Gillian recounted their day for him. Both wished him luck with Dungeons and Dragons, in their own way.

Gillian had said, “Have fun! Try not to die!”

And then Maggie had butted in, “Yeah, don’t suck!”

“Maggie, you shouldn’t say  _ suck _ —”

“And tell Rowdy to take care of Magillian! He’s named after us so he better be the best!”

Favor promised to pass along the sentiments. “Don’t stay up too late, now. I’ll probably be back a little while after you both go to bed. I love you both.”

“Love you, daddy!”

“Good night.”

Night fell over the Sedalia Auto Shop and Garage, and the work slowed to a molasses pace, but not without some small relief from everyone for having survived to see the sunset. Rowdy started on his project with enough gusto that Favor let him at it would any kind of comment about how he usually took his dinner break early to make a dent in whatever homework or studying he had to get done. Better to let Rowdy go about his business than end up getting into another shouting match. Favor’s score card was already at one friend pissed off; he didn’t want to add another and so kept to the office until the end-of-day bell rang. As the noise drifted off in Favor’s ears, he let himself exhale for what felt like the first time since that morning.

After a good minute or so of resting his eyes and leaning back in his chair, Favor heaved himself up to standing and packed up his things. Luckily he had put everything together the night before— he hadn’t remembered that morning and sure as hell didn’t have the time to go home and get his character sheet and spell list together. With everything together, he shut off the lights in the office and locked it up. 

Bailey was nighthawk, already with his ipod hooked up to the Garage’s speakers, some kind of dubstep remix hissing out through the mostly empty space. He risked giving Favor a wave goodbye, which Favor returned. Favor forced himself to walk past his Cadillac and over to the Chuck Wagon Diner.

Favor turned the corner and paused. Rowdy and Pete were stalled in front of Wishbone’s storefront, leaning against an old-fashioned wooden hitching post he had stuck out in front of a few weedy flowerboxes. Rowdy looked precisely like he did when he had rushed through a goodbye— in his work shirt, still had a smear of grease on one cheekbone, and carried his backpack and bike helmet— but Pete had gone home and washed up. He also had his battered old acoustic guitar out of the case and in his hands.

“It don’t say in the rules that you need a real-life instrument,” Rowdy was saying. Favor paused. He had the gut-feeling that at the very least, Pete was not going to be pleased to see him. He was grinning, all cheek, and passed one hand over the guitar.

“I know it don’t, but, what good is a bard without an instrument?” Pete asked, and gave the guitar a quick strum.  “Boom. Like magic.”

“Pitchy,” Rowdy said.

“Yack it up,” Pete replied, “let’s see you drag a Baby Grand into battle, see how well  _ you  _ do.”

Rowdy perked up considerably.  “Do you think Mushy’d let me do that?”

“Well, see, I’ve been looking at spell lists—” Pete noticed Favor idling around and stopped. He stuck his tongue in one cheek. Favor took in and released a breath before approaching. 

“Pete. Rowdy.”

“Favor,” Pete said, at the same time Rowdy said “Boss.”

Favor nodded at Pete’s guitar. “Haven’t seen you tote that thing for a while.”

“Well, I’d hate to get caught playing where I work,” Pete shot back.

Rowdy looked like he was considering bolting. “Uh, Pete was just telling me about all of his spells and stuff. There’s some pretty cool ones. You get some spells, too, right?”

“Some,” Favor said, cautiously. Truth be told he could barely remember which spells he had chosen. Hopefully they weren’t all dead on arrival. “But I think I’m mostly there for fighting, you know. Paladins and all that.”

“What race?” Pete asked, with the air of a test.

He came up blank. Favor looked desperately at Rowdy.

“Aasimar,” Rowdy said for him. “We, uh, figured it would be good because of the charisma stuff. Spellcasting. Uh. I don’t have any of that, since I’m a fighter. Literally.”

“Half-Orc?” Pete asked immediately, and Rowdy and Favor shared a minor, surprised look.

“Uh, no. Human. Figured that was easiest.”

“I picked a tiefling because it gives me a bonus to charisma, which is good for a bard. Humans are fine for just about everything, but I was looking at forums online and they say a half-orc…” Pete continued on, and once again Rowdy and Favor shared a look. What the hell had gotten into Pete? They had all agreed to do this for Mushy, more or less for the lack of any other avenue, but Pete had bypassed them all, leaping into the deep end of the Dungeons and Dragons pool.

Pete’s ministering was cut short when Wishbone opened the front door to the diner and poked his head out. “Are you jaspers going to just stand out there and jaw or are you coming inside?” The trio of them dutifully following Wishbone inside, with the man himself stopping to swing the sign in the front over around to CLOSED. Favor idled, watching as Wishbone turned the locks and hit the switch for the neon before turning to guide them into the diner.

Wishbone skirted around him. Favor wondered what it was Pete had said during his ten-minute check in earlier in the day. Or, Favor realized like a jolt, for all he knew all of the other mechanics had been going in and out all day, spilling their guts out to Wish like he was the barkeep of a bad Western movie. For the first time in many a year, ever since Favor bought the old run-down lot and decided to turn it into a garage, he felt self-conscious under Wishbone’s skirting eyes. The old line cook lead them all to the biggest booth in the diner, tucked in a back corner. 

“Go ahead and fill in, here. Mushy’s the back, washing up. Should be out any second. Here, get all your things out so he’ll see ‘em.” 

Feeling more and more like he was back in high school, Favor slid after Rowdy into the booth, a nice buffer between him and Pete; Wishbone perched on the edge of the seat next to Pete, and for a few minutes the only noise was the rustle of papers and the arrangement of accessories— Pete sat his guitar leaning up beside him and Rowdy clicked around on his shattered phone screen to find an app he had downloaded for rolling dice. Wishbone had his papers all bound up in a manila folder like contraband.

“I just hope I don’t forget about anything,” Rowdy spoke up, skimming his character sheet, only slightly wrinkled from being loose in his backpack. “I wanted to make a cheat-sheet or something because it turns out I can actually do a lot of stuff, second wind, duelling… this girl who sits next to me in math is a big fan of one of those Dungeons and Dragons podcasts that’s popular, she highlighted some stuff for me.” In shades of pink and yellow, this mystery girl (one of many Rowdy liked to cite as fonts of wisdom) had annotated his character sheet for him.

“Well, don’t worry,  _ this  _ girl will be more than happy to help,” Pete said, and with a flourish produced his character sheet. “Tiefling bard, I call her Wilhelmina.”

Wishbone’s eyes bugged slightly. “Yer playin’ a woman?!”

“Why not?” Pete shot back. “And that’s  _ Lady  _ Wilhelmina the Beautiful to you, mister. Mind your manners or I’ll polymorph you into something small and nasty. Like a diner line cook.”

Wishbone groaned back some half-baked reply. Rowdy leaned over and peered at his papers. “What’s your character, Wish?”

“I figured that you gearheads would need someone to keep you out of trouble, medically speaking,” Wishbone said. “And I found a pre-made sheet online for a healer type. Uh, dwarf,” Wishbone read off of the printed character sheet. “Cleric. I just call up some divine energy and heal you lot whenever you need it.”

“You didn’t put in a name,” Rowdy said, poking at the blank line at the top of the sheet.

“What do I need some fake name for?” Wishbone replied. “I figured I’d be playing myself.” Pete none too subtly rolled his eyes at the implication. “I ain’t an actor. Just being myself seems easier.”

“Here, then,” Pete said, and before Wishbone could snap his wrist, he pulled the paper around in front of him and scribbled across the top. Then he held the paper out to Favor and Rowdy with a smug glint in his eye. “How’s that, do you think?”

Rowdy snorted and Favor struggled to keep his mouth in a straight line. “Well, it’s certainly… fitting,” he managed to say, prompting Rowdy to burst into an audible snicker. Wishbone snatched back his character sheet and rapidly skimmed Pete’s wide scrawl.

“Oh, ha-ha,” Wishbone groused, and yet, very tellingly, did not reach for an eraser. “Wishbone Frostbeard, aren’t you so clever.”

“I have my moments.” Pete leaned back and stretched his arms above his head.

“Yeah, well, you’d better mind your manners. Any trouble we run into, I’m the only one of you with healing.”

“Boss, don’t you have some—?” Favor elbowed Rowdy hard before he could finish the question. Better to let Wish keep thinking whatever he wanted to think.

If Pete heard, he gave no indication, focused on Wishbone. “Any trouble we run into, I’m gonna be able to handle it myself with this little score right here,” Pete tapped on his sheet.  “Boom. Plus seven to persuasion after it’s all said and done with my proficiency bonus and experience.”

“What,” Rowdy scoffed, “are you gonna seduce all the bad guys we run into?”

“I’ll seduce anybody we need to,” Pete said, with another tap.

“Technically, you’d be needing to seduce  _ Mushy _ ,” Favor said, and leaned his smile into his palm.  “Seeing as how he’ll be playing everyone else we might run into.”

Pete opened his mouth.  Closed it. Looked at Rowdy, who looked absolutely gleeful.  Pete looked back to Favor. “I think I’ll… well, there’s multiple ways to handle situations, ain’t there?”

“Ain’t there just,” Favor replied. He couldn’t keep the humor from his voice.

“Well, why do  _ you  _ have such a high charisma stat?” Pete demanded, accusatory.

“Simple,” Favor said, with a shrug, “intimidation is a charisma check.”

“Yeah,” Pete muttered, while Rowdy tried to contain his laughter, “that makes sense.”

Wishbone craned his head up to look through the service window and shushed them all. Pete slapped Wish’s gesturing hand away from his face. “All of you, quiet, now, here he comes.”

“Alright, Mr. Wishbone, everything’s all clean,” Mushy announced, and emerged from the back through the service door. He didn’t immediately see the coalition waiting for him at the corner booth, his apron halfway over his head. “There’s still some boxes in the back that need to be unpacked, but I can do those tomorrow, if you want…” the dingy apron material cleared his face and he froze, mid-stride, in front of the assembled party. He blinked. “Hello, Mr. Favor,” he said, but it sounded like a question. “Mr. Pete. Rowdy.”

“Evening, Mushy,” Favor said alongside Pete’s cheery “Hello,” and Rowdy’s more casual, “Sup, Mush?” 

“Do you guys want me to take your orders?” Mushy asked. “Mr. Wishbone, do you want me to stay longer? I’d need to turn the griddle back on…”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d want to stay a little later,” Wishbone spoke up, resting with one knee up on the padded bench seat, one hand tapping across the surface of his character sheet. Mushy’s eyes never left Wishbone’s face.

“Well, that’s okay,” Mushy said, and began to turn. “I’ll go turn the stove back on…”

“Wait, no, come back,” Wishbone said. Mushy did as he was told, his hands tangled up in his apron, not sure yet if he was putting it back on or leaving it off. His brows were furrowed in his trademark look of confusion. “You don’t have anything else planned tonight, do you?” Wishbone inquired.

With his characteristic lack of guile, Mushy replied, “You know I don’t, Mr. Wishbone. You asked me yesterday and told me to make sure I didn’t plan anything.”

Favor had to close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He heard Pete strangle a chuckle at Wishbone’s expense. Wishbone stuttered. “Uh, right. Well, that’s good, because we were all thinking… it might be fun to try out this Dungeons and Dragons stuff you’re always talking about.” Favor opened his eyes back up to see Mushy’s reaction.

For a moment, it looked like he hadn’t heard correctly. He blinked, rapidly, glancing back and forth between them all, waiting in the booth. Favor tried to give him an encouraging smile but wasn’t sure if it had any effect. Then, he saw as Mushy noticed the distinct character sheets scattered across the tabletop, and Rowdy’s phone, with the dice-rolling app open, and Pete’s stack of highlighted sheets scanned from the player’s handbook. The mental math flashed in Mushy’s eyes and he opened his mouth, only to immediately close it and swallow. With his hands still tangled up in his apron, he withdrew half a step.

“You… want to play Dungeons and Dragons with me?” He looked like he was expecting a physical blow, backing up slowly into himself. Like he was expecting against his own better nature that it was all going to turn out into just another joke, another bruise on top of what he was already dealing with. It was a pitiful sight, and Favor’s breath stuck in his throat.

“Well, of course we do!” Rowdy answered for all of them, like it was so simple. 

Like a sunrise after a storm, one of the biggest, best smiles Favor had ever seen Mushy use bloomed on his face, and it was like a punch to the solar plexus. The look on Mushy’s face made Favor reconsider Pete’s old plan about going and beating up his nerd friends. Mushy was a good kid, who’d been dealt a tough hand to play, and the more Favor learned about Mushy’s home life before Wishbone came along made him want to spit tacks before going home and hugging his own daughters close to him. The fact that the three of them sitting around with what enthusiasm they could farm up out of the ether made him brighten up like Christmas came early… it made Favor realize how much this meant to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Favor caught Pete looking at him. Their eyes met and with an almost imperceptible nod of his head, the day’s bitterness dried up between them. As much as they’d gotten on each other’s nerves during the work day, this wasn’t about them. This was about Mushy. About how he was so used to being treated poorly by the people around him that he never expected even a shred of basic kindness from the people he spoke to on a daily basis.

“I figured, if you wanted, you could be the Dungeon Man,” Wishbone said. “We all made characters.”

“Dungeon Master,” Pete and Mushy corrected at once, and if that didn’t make Mushy’s jaw drop in gleeful surprise. It was hard not to smile, and when Rowdy elbowed Favor’s side, he turned to see that Rowdy was beaming too, with a  _ can you believe this?  _ glint in his eyes that Favor wholeheartedly agreed with.

“Well, sure! I… I have my stuff, it’s just in my backpack!” In no time at all, Mushy tossed aside his apron and scampered to go get his backpack. Wishbone pulled a chair over so that Mushy could sit alone at the head of the booth, which proved to be more convenient than any of them realized, as Mushy had a truly incredible amount of papers and tools in his backpack that needed precious table space.

“Uh, Mushy?” Rowdy asked.

“Yeah?” Mushy placed a heavy-looking felt bag down on the table, with a rustle of clacking plastic informing Favor that it was full of dice.

“Do you just… carry this stuff around with you?”

“Yup!” Mushy said, cheerfully, and unfolded a large cardboard screen, printed with the image of a dragon, setting it up around his HQ of sorts. The little glimpse of the screen’s interior Favor got from being at Mushy’s elbow was a mass of statistics, numbers, and what looked like at least a dozen color-coded post-it notes with Mushy’s stiff-fingered scrawl stuck at opportune locations. Damn if his ideas about Mushy’s mental abilities weren’t being blown out of the water at every passing second.

While Mushy readied himself, and babbled on about it being his first campaign he’d ever designed, something about Waterdeep and someone named Mercer being a large inspiration, not to mention a veritable clan of Mcelroys, Wishbone got up, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a coffee mug for Favor, which he accepted with a sheepish  _ thanks, Wishbone _ , and a basket each of onion rings and fries, which he wisely placed as far away from Rowdy’s reach as he could on the crowded space. Faster than Favor could have expected, given the sheer amount of objects and people in motion, they were ready.

Mushy closed his eyes, breathed out, and when he opened them, there was an unfamiliar but intriguing glint to his dark eyes. The diner was silent, save for the creak of Rowdy leaning forward in interest. 

“Well,” Mushy said, and spread his hands out, wide, “your journey begins in a tavern…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I like this chapter, but at the very least the next one should be more fun. And I promise not to take six months writing it, lol. You guys are the best!

**Author's Note:**

> More to come!


End file.
